Enjoy this for the low budget circa Y2K acid rave aesthetics. Yes, they bleeped out the innumerable F-bombs, for easier living room consumption, but there’s no mistake that recreational drug use and other irresponsible behaviors are being encouraged. When you see scantily clad dancers gyrate in a field of crudely generated happy pills, you know what’s on offer in no uncertain terms. The DJ mastermind Fatboy Slim always had the vibes of that slightly sad and more than slightly creepy older guy who’s always at the club all alone trying to sell his nephew’s Adderall to girls with low standards, which makes perfect cosmic sense because his given name is Norman. Which also makes sense because with any subculture, the people who really create the culture are not the same people who come to embody it in the mind’s eye. It’s not the club kids who are creating the fantasy, it’s the schmuck you wouldn’t offer a light to.